Through a Glass Darkly
by LadySirius32158
Summary: Leon is missing and D is distraught. Was a one-shot but it seems to have taken on a life of its own. Written for a private fanfic comm, this week's prompt was mirror.
1. Chapter 1

Through a Glass Darkly

How could one man be so very infuriating? So very aggravating? So very clueless? And yet manage to expend so little effort in the process, as if it came all too naturally to him? Count D wished that he knew, wished that he could solve the enigma that was Leon Orcot, while at the same time cure the man of his very slovenly habits.

Each time he entered the shop, he left it in a state of chaotic disorder - but it wasn't always the inanimate objects that he had an effect upon, it was the owner as well ... whether he was willing to admit to it or not. The mysterious Chinese shopkeeper harumphed at the detective on a regular basis, yelled at him to remove his overly large flat feet from off of the coffee table, warned him not to set the glass he was using upon the lacquered table without setting a coaster there first - an admonition which Leon regularly disregarded, as evidenced by the rings he left behind. And yet he continued to serve the other man the sinfully sweet treats that he craved, and which drew him back into the shop almost every day - well, that and his determination to catch Count D at something patently illegal, or, as Leon so crudely put it, to "get the goods on him." A phrase that made the Count both wince and smile - wincing at the crudeness of the phrase, but smiling at the knowledge that there was nothing that the detective would ever catch him at if he chose not to let him. Which of course, he wouldn't. Would he?

The last time he had been there, the two men had gotten into a terrible argument - over everything and nothing. Leon's little brother, the creatures in the shop, the Chinese mafia - even drug trafficking and murder, for pity's sake. T-chan had done nothing to ameliorate the situation when he had attempted to take a bite out of Leon's hindquarters, either. Leon had stormed out of the shop in a huff, vowing that the devil would be wearing ice skates before his return. D knew better, though, the detective seemed unable to stay away, drawn back to the pet shop almost in spite of himself.

But it had been five days now. Five very long days. And no sign of the man. And no one had seen or heard from him either.

D picked up the glass from the coffee table, the one Leon had last used, last emptied, gold rimmed, amber tinted. It had never been moved from the spot where he had casually laid it before the argument had commenced, never washed. D's long elegant nails scratched silently across the surface, as if by doing so he could pick up a trace of the detective's presence, will him to return. Although why he wished him to do so, when he was undoubtedly the most obnoxious argumentative man, the most annoying, infuriating, obstinate man, D had ever met was certainly beyond him.

_He'll be back_. Chris' thoughts came to him clearly. He turned to regard the young boy who stood in the doorway to the back of the shop, watching him with penetrating eyes.

"Of course he will," D replied, almost brusquely. "Your brother loves you." He set the glass back upon the table, careful to leave it in the same spot as it had been before, drawing back the veil of his dark hair, with one slender hand. He would never allow Chris to see that his greatest fear was that the detective was gone for good - he would not even admit that to himself. At least not yet.

Chris reached for the glass, as though to take it back and clean it, but D shook his head. "I will attend to it," he murmured. The truth was that he feared that if the glass were cleaned, he would lose his last tie to Leon Orcot, silly as that sounded. Superstitious even. But for now he wished it to remain as it was, a symbol that the detective was just around the next corner - somewhere - and would bound into the shop at any minute, demanding information. Or something to drink.

D smiled to himself at the notion. And continued to hope.


	2. In Through the Out Door

In Through the Out Door

Five days became a week, then became two weeks with no word from the erstwhile detective. This was definitely not like Leon, the proverbial bad penny who invariably found a way to turn up when he was least expected, or wanted. And Count D, although he pretended not to be affected by the policeman's absence, was.

After twenty days, he decided enough was enough.

It was important for Chris' sake that they find his brother. At least that's what he told himself, as he decided that they needed to leave the shop. "Come with me, Chris, we have something to do," he beckoned to the young boy. D stood within the open door of the shop, waiting for him, but it was obvious that his patience was being pushed to the limit.

_Where are we going?_ Chris asked curiously. He and T-chan followed behind the oriental shopkeeper as he swept them from the shop, elegantly garbed as usual, today in a red silk kimono, with small blue flowers embroidered upon it. His mien was determined and his step steady, and it was obvious that they were on some sort of a mission, but what? Already it was not an ordinary day, for Count D generally chose to remain within the confines of his quiet shop in Chinatown, so something must definitely be up.

"To your brother's apartment," came the reply, as they navigated their way from Chinatown to the slightly seedy area which Leon called home, his taste in domiciles being called into question. His taste in most everything, actually. D ignored the catcalls that were aimed his way, the whistles and the laughter from the unemployed rubes that lines the street, focusing on what they were doing, as he kept Chris close to him, protectively, and T-chan managed to look menacing, while Q-chan hovered about them, silently.

"Is that your mama?" was the last comment that could be heard as they entered the building, walked the few floors to Leon's apartment, stepping over refuse and unidentified objects, before entering (D was good at getting into places without keys, but don't ask him how he did it).

The place was a teetotal disaster area and D's heart fairly stopped as he leapt to the conclusion that Leon had been assaulted and dragged from the place. But then he realized it was merely slovenly housekeeping on the detective's part. Half-full glasses of mysterious fluids were set about, as well as bits of unidentifiable comestibles which D wasn't sure were ever truly edible. Holding his nose with one delicate hand, he began to pick up the refuse as he went, unable to believe that a human being could actually live like this.

He quickly tore down the salacious posters upon the wall, to shield Chris' innocence, covering his eyes as he did so - grinning large-mammaried girls with no clothes and low IQ's. He put them into a trash bag along with the numerous magazines of the same ilk which littered the apartment, and which were covered with specks of suspicious intent. "Never you mind," he told the young boy as he attempted to thumb one open.

Room by room they went, but no trace of the detective - at least no recent trace - could they find. Not a clue as to a case he might be working on, no phone number, nothing. Admitting defeat at last they had no choice but to leave, running the gauntlet of rudeness once more. But this time the catcallers were put to flight by Q-chan who chose to swoop among them suddenly, scattering them to fierce cries of, "Watch out, they lay eggs!" as the objects of his dives ran to cover.

D's steps began to drag as they walked back through Chinatown. Where, oh where, was Mr. Detective, and was he safe? And why did he care so very much? It was all so confusing for him.

He should be happy that he was not being hounded any more, not being annoyed by the impertinent questions, nor accused of things that ran the gamut from drug smuggling to murder. That he was not having to pick up after the detective, nor listen to his lurid tales of conquests past and future. Or hear him complain about the animals in the shop. Or....

D dabbed at one eye carefully. He must have gotten something in it, that was it. Perhaps something airborne. Treacherous wind.

As he approached the shop he saw to his dismay and indignation that the front door was wide open. His eyes grew wide with amazement. How could that be? How could that possibly be? He hastened his steps, intent on catching the intruder at work, and deal with him as only Cound D could - thoroughly and efficiently. Violence was never his way.

He told Chris to wait on the sidewalk, just for a moment, leaving Q-chan as guard while he went inside.

And there, sitting on the sofa just as pretty as you please, a half-empty glass in one hand, cookie in the other, feet propped up on the coffee table as if they had a right to be there, was..... Leon Orcut himself.

"Took you long enough," the detective complained through pastry-stuffed mouth, which only made his words come out garbled, but D understood.

"We've been to your apartment," he said smoothly, tucking both hands inside his long hanging sleeves, as he beckoned to Chris to come in and shut the door behind him. "Were you raised in a barn, Mr. Detective?" he berated him. "Well, having seen your home, I can easily believe it."

His words were cross, but his eyes were shining as he stood there, looking down upon Leon, who started to choke.

"My apartment? What the hell were you doing in my apartment?"

"Bettering it," was the brief reply. Chris silently hugged his brother, before taking T-chan, and heading to the back of the shop. He'd heard their fights before, and he could already see what was coming.

As Leon continued to rail, D never backed down, giving as good as he got - and never letting the detective know how glad he was to see him again, or how afraid he had been. Some things Leon did not need to know. At least not now.


	3. The Plot Thickens

The Plot Thickens

Leon seemed to be barely aware that his brother had come and gone, back into the recesses of the shop, and well out of the line of fire, unwilling to place himself in harm's way, nor listen to more enigmatic arguments which led nowhere. In fact, Leon was rather confused as to D's attitude, not to mention why he had had the consummate gall to enter his apartment and effect changes which were sure to be anathema to the detective. What would warrant such a move?

"D, what's your problem?" he cried, "I know we got into an argument a couple days ago, but that doesn't mean you have to ruin my goddamn life, does it?"

"Language, detective, language," the Cout automatically admonished, before the detective's words sank fully into his consciousness. "A couple of days? Don't you mean more like two weeks?" he corrected the scatterbrained policeman, wondering how in the world he managed to function with such a poor grasp of time.

"Are you whacked? I was here just two days ago," Leon insisted, frowning at his host, even as he wondered what D might be smoking that would cause him to be so confused. Maybe he should search for some sort of hashish pipe, or erstwhile opium den in the back room?

'No, detective," D shook his head adamantly, "it has actually been over two weeks since you were last here. Since we last arg... had a difference of opinion...." Alarmed, D looked closer at the detective, leaned toward him and with one slender hand reached out toward him.

"Hey!" Leon almost jumped, as D drew back again, examining something in his fingers.

"Rice?" he said aloud, perplexed, glancing at Leon.

"What rice?" Leon repeated, as he swept his blond hair with his hands, and more grains of uncooked rice scattered onto the sofa. "What the hell.....?"

"Detective," D said smoothly, tucking away the trace of panic which attempted to manifest itself in his voice, "just where have you been?"

"Been? Me?" Leon repeated, confused, as he continued to scratch his head, more rice falling from it. But for once, D did not yell about the mess. "I haven't been anywhere, D, you're the one who was gone when I got here, not me."

D made no immediate reply, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully, considering the situation. "Where were you before you were here? Please, just humor me...." He held up one hand as Leon looked as though he were about to protest the stupidity of the question.

"At the station, of course," Leon replied, standing up to a small shower of rice upon the pet shop floor. "I was working, naturally. That's where the letter came, it was directed to me in care of the station."

"Letter, Mister Detective? What letter?" Sometimes getting a coherent answer from the other man was worse than questioning a billy goat with a toothache.

"The one about the money. You know. The money...." Leon trailed off into silence, concentrating on what he was saying, trying to make sense of his own words.

"You received some money, detective? Who was it from?"

"It was from some guy," was the vague response, "because I did something really good, and he put me in his will, and then I had to go get it....." Something about Leon's own story was not quite jake, even in his own ears.

"Where did you go to get this windfall?" D continued, in an attempt to get to the heart of the matter.

"A lawyer's office. In Chinatown. Over some bar."

Could he be any vaguer? D didn't think so.

Leon was frowning now, as strange flashes of memory began to pelt him. "Maybe I went to a movie after that. Or maybe I stopped for a drink in the bar. That sounds right, a drink in the bar. And then some movie. Something about a wedding, I think, I really don't remember."

"A wedding?" D's voice seemed rather thin, and he seemed a bit paler than usual. Without warning, he lunged for Leon's hand, holding it up for both their inspections.

Their eyes locked together, as they both clearly saw what was entrenched upon Leon's left hand, second finger from the left. A plain gold band.

What the hell had he done?


	4. Here Comes the Groom?

Here Comes the Groom?

D dropped Leon's hand as if it had suddenly burned him, looking as if he'd been suckerpunched, reeling with the knowledge of what he had seen, his legs turning to jelly as he swayed for just a moment before landing lightly on the couch beside the dazed detective, who continued to stare at the gold bank upon his finger.

"What the hell, D? What the hell?" he kept repeating, parrot-like. "You don't think.... You don't really think.... I mean.... seriously.......Me? Married?"

Count D winced at the use of that.... word.... again, pressing one slender hand against his throbbing temple. "Please, Mr. Detective, is it necessary to be so vulgar?" he said in a voice which was barely audible.

To say that Leon was confused would be the understatement of the year - Leon lived most of his life outside of his work for the police force cluelessly in the dark about many things, simply barging ahead impulsively and doing what felt good at the time. But now he was completely baffled beyond belief - and not just about his current predicament, vis a vis the lost time, the uncooked rice which trickled down from his blond hair, and the strange gold ring situated upon a finger traditionally reserved for wedding jewelry. More confusing than any of these was the impulse he had to reach out and stroke D's cheek comfortingly, to soothe and calm him and tell him that everything would be alright.

WHAT THE FUCK?

As if he had been about to act on said instinct, he grabbed his right hand with his left, and jammed both fists into his lap rather harshly, earning him a quizzical look from D.

"We must be logical about this," D began in a tremorous voice. Stop that, he chided himself. "Yes, there must be a logical explanation for this, my dear detective, and we shall certainly find it," he continued, willing himself to stay strong.

"We? What do you mean we?" Leon began to bluster, but one look at D's determined face, and his words faltered, then died away weakly.

"I need you to think," the Count said, turning his deep dark eyes upon the other man, "close your eyes and let your mind go back in time, back to that bar. I suspect that is where everything began. Relax, and let it all come back to you....."

Reluctantly, but seeing the logic in the Count's instructions, Leon closed his eyes, although he hated to do it, being the suspicious type, always thinking Count D was up to something nefarious, which of course was what he had spent quite some time attempting to prove. He was aware of movement beside him, even as he tried to picture the bar in question, which wasn't easy because frankly when you'd seen one, you'd seen most of them. And Leon had been inside his fair share of bars in his time. It was when he felt his right hand being taken, and strange soft touching sensations permeated him that he opened his eyes in alarm to find the dark haired man gently stroking it. He didn't know which was more disturbing - the fact that D was doing it, or the fact that he rather liked it. A thought which he pushed out of sight quickly.

"Huh?" he blurted out, "What the hell, D?"

"Language, Detective," the shopkeeper admonished him, mostly from habit, as he continued to stroke his hand, his cheeks taking on a light pinkish tinge. "Do not distress yourself, detective, or you will undo what I am attempting to do here...."

"And just what is that?" Leon demanded to know.

"I am trying to calm your chi so that you can recall the events of that night," D replied serenely, "so just relax, Detective, and allow it to happen.... Would you care for some tea?"

"No, but maybe a good stiff drink. You know, the hair of the dog?"

All he got for his efforts in that direction was a pained look from D. "I think not," he said dryly. "Now close your eyes, and think...."

Leon grumblingly did as he was bidden, trying to sort through his memories of bars to the most recent occurrence - at least he assumed it to be the most recent. Everything was jumbled so, it was hard to properly sort things out.

"Let's begin with the olfactory sense," D murmured in Proustian fashion, "maybe you can smell the alcohol, the drink in your glass..."

"What makes you think I was drinking?"

"Detective, please, I know you. Now quit wasting time," D admonished him, his fingers making circles on the back of Leon's hand. "Perhaps there was a kitchen attached to the bar, can you smell food cooking? The perfume of the server who took your order? Anything would be helpful..."

Leon groaned. He couldn't smell anything, his mind was refusing to cooperate, there was just so much to sift through. Too many smells, too much alcohol, nothing was standing out, nothing was coming to mind.

But then he began to hear something, and his head perked up, his mouth dropping open slightly, even as he selfishly hoped that D would not stop what he was doing.

"Yes? What is it, Detective?" D's eyes widened slightly as he watched Leon's reactions. "What do you remember."

"Music," Leon whispered, "I can hear music...."

D winced as if he'd been struck, blanching, although he never released the blond's hand. "Is it..... is it..... Here Comes the Bride?" he managed to get out, finally.

Leon listened to the echo in his head, letting the melody, the rhythm and the words sort themselves out propertly, before he replied in a baffled voice, "No, it's...... it's...... Disco Inferno...." He slumped back into the sofa, still attached to D, his head aching wearly as inside his mind the Trampps continued to play.


	5. Thoughts Reflected, Brought to Mind

Thoughts Reflected, Brought To Mind

Disco Inferno. Not the overly popular Mendelsohn's Wedding March, at any rate, which was something to be grateful for, although D wasn't even sure why the thought of the detective having gotten married distressed him so. He told himself it was because Leon was not fit husband material to be unleased upon some poor unsuspecting female. Much less - and he released an involuntary shudder at the thought - potential fatherhood material. And that if a wedding had somehow occurred, the ceremony had been performed under duress, or worse - blind stupid intoxication. Perhaps he could fool himself into believing that that was his sole interest in the case, a matter of miscarriage of justice.

The case? Just when had he begun to sound like Leon?

D cleared his throat, trying to clear his head, attempting to focus once more. A bar in Chinatown, playing an old disco number. Perhaps that did narrow things down somewhat. If only he could glean more details from the clueless shamus.

To his surprise, he found that he still had Leon's hand held within his own, a gesture of trust which he would not have expected from the blond. Nor one he would have thought that he'd ever solicit. He seemed to be learning a lot about himself even as he tried to learn more about Leon's missing time.

"Leon," he said gently, his long slim fingers beginning to make sworls on the back of the other man's hand in an attempt to relax him, to ease him back into remembrance, to let his mind and his memory travel back to the time in question, to jog his errant recall. "Concentrate again, if you will..... music is playing... disco music," he shuddered at the very word. "Are you ... perhaps.... dancing.... with someone?"

"Dancing? Me?" Leon squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to recall.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, memories were being entered into his inner vision, like the pieces of a puzzle which have been scrambled, and the object is to put them together to form some sort of coherent whole. Dancing? Was there someone dancing? That felt rather familiar, for some reason, and he opened his inner eye just a bit wider.

"I do see someone dancing," he said, almost in awe, "someone who looks just like me. Except for the monkey suit. Which looks ridiculous on anyone," he snorted with unconcealed contempt.

"Someone who looks like you, Detective? I don't believe there is such a person," D maintained, trying not to tremble, as he coaxed the memories to be revealed, whatever they may be.

"I'm tellin' ya, D, he looks just like me," the baffled flatfoot continued, "in every way...... except he's dancing and of course I'm not. He even has rice falling off of him too....." His voice trailed away, in confusion, and D picked up the story, eyes widening, then rolling at Leon as realization hit him.

"Leon, you're looking into a mirror," he chided, "at yourself. You are the one who is dancing....."

Leon groaned, shutting his eyes. That wasn't what he had wanted to hear. Not at all. But then again, D didn't seem so thrilled either.


End file.
